


There Is No God But God

by moosesal



Category: Sleeper Cell
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-25
Updated: 2006-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-26 08:54:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moosesal/pseuds/moosesal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at the spirituality and religious beliefs of Gayle, Darwyn, and Farik.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Is No God But God

**Author's Note:**

> Written for: Angel in the Yuletide 2006 Challenge
> 
> Thanks go out to the following people: Romanyg for the excellent beta. Without her there wouldn't be much to read here, she nudged me in just the right direction to actually get words out of me. Ladycat777 was there for me at the last minute with answers to my Judaism101 questions. And finally, Silvertedy for exposing me to the Church and praying of the rosary. Who knew I'd one day use that experience in a fic?
> 
> Qur'an text from USC's online Compendium of Muslim Texts. Text cited are verses 001.001-001.007 from Al-Fatiha (The Opening). Translation by Yusuf Ali. Story title comes from the Islamic creed: "There is no God but God. Muhammad is the messenger of God." Other references to the Qur'an taken from dialogue in season one.

_Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee;_

 

It had been too many years to count since Gayle's last confession. She wasn't even sure what she was doing, why she'd ended up there. But the priest listened, let her talk, let her ask questions that in truth she was asking herself.

She told him about the man she'd met, the man she'd fallen for. That something about him had caught her attention the moment she'd laid eyes on him. That something had pulled her in, made her trust him, open up to him. That he was a blessing, and that there was something inside him that she couldn't reach.

 

 _blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus._

 

For one thing, there was his job; she hadn't really known who he was. It hadn't bothered her to think Darwyn was an ex-con. It did bother her -- at first, anyway -- to learn that he was with the FBI. It scared her. But that wasn't the real problem.

She trailed off in her explanation, then suddenly blurted out, "He's Muslim."

The priest wasn't really sure how to respond. And she couldn't blame him. She wasn't really sure why it was an issue, just knew that it was.

When she thought about it, thought about him, she admitted to herself that he was devout. He prayed every day. He lived by rules that seemed to dictate everything in his life right down to what foods he couldn't eat. While Gayle -- except for weddings, christenings, and funerals -- hadn't been inside a church in more years than she could remember. Darwyn believed in something, but Gayle?

 

 _Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death._

 

The priest asked Gayle what she believed in. She didn't know.

She had thought herself happy keeping God somewhere in the back of her mind, had thought she didn't need church or prayer or anything else. But she was starting to feel like she was just getting by, that maybe she was missing something. Darwyn's beliefs meant something to him, made him who he was.

It was something they had talked about, yet hadn't. She hadn't really asked the things she wanted -- needed -- to know. She hadn't told him things she needed to share.

The priest told her that sometimes we find our way to God through unexpected paths, relationships, or experiences. He reminded her that the Muslim God, the Hebrew God, was the same God celebrated in Mass on Sundays. That while known by different names, and come to from different directions, He was the same. "Talking to your friend about his beliefs may help you find your own again."

She finished her confession, received absolution, and felt more free, more at ease, than she had in a long time. She still had questions, but she'd get her answers.

When she stepped out of the confessional she saw a handful of older women in the pews. They were praying the rosary together. Gayle sat down with them and stared at the crucifix above the altar as she let their words wash over her, bringing her peace.

 

***

 _1\. Bismi All ahi alrrahmani alrraheemi_

 _(In the name of Allah, Most Gracious, Most Merciful.)_

 

Darwyn al-Sayeed was a spiritual man. A believer. So was Darwyn al-Hakim. In prison -- first at Atwater then at Lompoc -- it had been easy to establish his cover. He'd been raised Muslim, that wasn't a lie. He believed in Allah, that He was the one God, that Muhammad was His messenger, that the Qur'an was His word. He had only to drop hints, to put on an act, to pretend his sympathies lay with the struggle of his Muslim brothers. It wasn't like after, when he met Farik and was tested by him.

In the weeks of planning leading up to Youmud Din, during the hours spent with Tommy, Ilija, Christian, and most especially with Farik, during nights lying beside Gayle, Darwyn began struggling to remember whose faith was his own -- al-Sayeed's or al-Hakim's.

Farik had pushed him from day one. Summoning him to a synagogue and challenging his faith before a room of Jews observing the Sabbath, then again outside in the alley and every day thereafter. "Where is God's paradise?" Farik had asked. "Paradise is in the shadow of the swords." He knew the answer, but its meaning was far different to him than to Farik.

Despite their differences, however, there was something in Farik that called to Darwyn. While he'd told Ray that what Farik believed, what the cell believed, what all these _jihadists_ believed wasn't _his_ Islam -- that their beliefs had nothing to do with his faith -- there was no denying that they believed they were doing God's will. Their actions seemed misguided to Darwyn, but their experiences, their education, their reading of the Qur'an was different than his own.

 

 _2\. Al hamdu lillahi rabbi alAAalameena_

 _(Praise be to Allah, the Cherisher and Sustainer of the worlds;)_

 

Was different necessarily wrong? Darwyn's own actions weren't without sin.

He'd done so much. Committed so many acts that were _not_ in the name of Allah. Some that he couldn't justify with his job either. Things that shamed him, damned him. Nights spent with Gayle. Trailing that girl and taking pictures of her dalliances then seeing on the news that she'd been killed and knowing he'd played some part in that. Shooting Bobby Habib in the head -- an action that even the Bureau considered murder.

So what if he hadn't known what would happen to that girl? So what if he'd killed Bobby so he wouldn't have to throw another stone, watch him suffer like that, listen to his cries? He still heard the cries at night in his dreams. He still saw that girl's face, still heard the pleas of the trucker they'd killed, still mourned the loss of scholar Abdul Malik.

As Darwyn had told Gayle, Muslims were born free of sin, it was their actions in life that damned them. No matter how much he prayed, no matter how much he felt that what he did was right, he was not clean in the eyes of Allah. How could he be when he'd killed, fornicated, stood by and watched innocent people die?

 

 _3\. Alrra hmani alrraheemi_

 _(Most Gracious, Most Merciful;)_

 

So what if, in the end, he'd saved the lives of thousands? Did that really clear the slate?

After all that had happened, all the people who'd come so close to dying, Darwyn still struggled. He knew what was right, he knew what was true, but he had trouble _seeing._ He was struggling to find his self again, to find his place in the world. He was caught between damnation and paradise, conflicted about Farik and Gayle, questioning his beliefs like he never had before. He sought answers in the Qur'an, in prayer, and in his job.

 

***

 _4\. M aliki yawmi alddeeni_

 _(Master of the Day of Judgment.)_

 

Faris al-Farik was a spiritual man. So were Yossi Amran and Saud bin Safwan. The last was the only one of these three men who was real, and he'd been dead for what felt like eternity.

Yossi Amran was active in the Westside Sephardic Temple -- attending services every week and coaching the Sinai Maccabees little league team. He worked in security and was helping organize security for the Temple. He was a good Jew, a practicing Jew, a faithful Jew. But he was a cover. After all, who would ever suspect a Jew of being a jihadist? Certainly not the American government.

When he put on his yarmulke it was just part of his disguise. When he put on "Farik" he took on a whole new identity, became a whole new man. His "real" life as Saud bin Safwan had shaped him -- fighting the Russians in Afghanistan; opposing the occupation of Kuwait as an officer in the Saudi National Guard; training Aidid's men in Somalia; fighting in Bosnia with the Mujahidin; and finally running an al Qaeda training camp for bin Laden. During those years he was transformed from Saud to Farik.

 

 _5\. Iyy aka naAAbudu wa-iyyaka nastaAAeenu_

 _(Thee do we worship, and Thine aid we seek.)_

 

As much as Yossi had been created, Saud had been destroyed. He'd put his past behind him, left his wife and daughter in England. He made himself into Faris al-Farik to do God's work. Saud bin Safwan was dead. Until that night. That night when Samia came to him. For just one night, in the arms of his wife, he was Saud again. But that couldn't last; he couldn't do God's work when worried about his family. He knew in his heart that Samia was the one person who could make him change his mind, change his path, change his destiny.

"Only God is the lord of destiny." It said so in the Qur'an. Farik had given himself to God, he couldn't go back.

Farik was a devoted man. But his devotion to family came second to Allah. "Promote virtue, prevent vice," he'd said a thousand times. Did Allah see being with Samia as an indulgence, as vice? He found himself wishing she'd never come to him. Lying on the bunk in his cell, he thought of that last night with her. The touch of her fingertips on his flesh, of his hands on her. The scent of her was still with him; her taste still burst across his tongue at the most unexpected moments. He got lost in her then and retreated to those memories now. The feel of her under him, over him; being inside her was like touching God. But had it been worth it?

 

 _6\. Ihdin a alssirata almustaqeema_

 _(Show us the straight way,)_

 

He'd worshiped at her body when he should have been focused on Youmud Din. He questioned everything now -- his team, his judgment in choosing them, his wife's judgment for coming. And in the end he found himself questioning Allah.

His rights hadn't been completely violated. He'd been allowed a copy of the Qur'an and had read it four times in the first few weeks. He prayed, asking Allah for strength, for guidance, and some days for an explanation. If Allah answered, he couldn't hear him. Yet he knew his answer would come.

He'd worked so hard, planned so carefully. This was so much greater than anything he'd done before. Yet he'd failed, and it was either a test from God or God himself was to blame. God is great. There is no god but Allah. This must be a test. He would survive it as he had all the others.

 

 _7. Sirata allatheena anAAamta AAalayhim ghayri almaghdoobi AAalayhim wala alddalleena_

 _(The way of those on whom Thou hast bestowed Thy Grace, those whose (portion) is not wrath, and who go not astray.)_

 


End file.
